


Canon Divergent

by Behind_The_Hood



Series: Superbat Tumblr Drabbles, Snippets, and Prompts [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Apologies, Bodyswap, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Head Injury, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Loss, Pet Sitting, Possessive Behavior, Prostate Massage, Rough Sex, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Worried Bruce Wayne, Worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_The_Hood/pseuds/Behind_The_Hood
Summary: A conglomeration of any Tumblr drabbles, snippets, and prompts that take place in the canon setting.





	1. Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Superbat + “I just needed to hear your voice.”

Clark finally makes it back to his apartment well after midnight, his Superman suit hidden once again under his ragged Clark Kent suit.

When he hears labored breathing coming from inside, he looks through his door to find the intruder.

It’s Bruce, sitting curled up on the floor by his balcony, cowl tossed carelessly to the side and hands covering his eyes.

Clark hurries to unlock his door and check on him. It’s far too early in the night for Bruce to be visiting, especially as Batman. He lives easily an hour away, maybe a little less if his jet is fast enough.

Clark stumbles in, too big shoes catching on his carpet, and closes the door gently.

“Clark?” Bruce’s voice is quiet, and he doesn’t look up.

“Yeah, Bruce. It’s me,” Clark says, walking up to Bruce. He gives him a quick scan for broken bones or any bleeding. Other than the mottled bruises usually painting Bruce’s skin, he seems to be in one piece.

He’s clearly not though.

Clark is removing his shoes and stripping of his tie and jacket as he comes over, throwing them to the floor. “Bruce, what’s wrong?”

Bruce takes a shaky breath, his whole body is trembling. Clark doesn’t see Bruce like this often.

“I…” Bruce starts. It’s always like pulling teeth trying to get him to admit something he doesn’t want to share. At least that hasn’t changed. “I just needed to hear your voice…”

Clark squats before Bruce. That’s almost more worrying. He has to know what’s happened.

“Bruce, baby, talk to me,” Clark pleads.

Bruce shakes his head, and Clark is about to argue that he needs to know so he can help, but then Bruce nods instead. “Scarecrow. He’s got a new serum. A cure is being worked on, but he got me, Dick, and Cassandra. The others are evacuating the area or keeping an eye out for him, but we’re down until the cure is made,” his voice trails off to a whisper.

Leave it to Batman to give a decent debriefing even while on fear toxin.

“What can I do to help?” Clark wants to reach out, to take Bruce in his arms and tell him every loving thought he has until he scares Bruce’s fears back into whatever dark corners they’ve crawled out from. But touching while on fear toxin is a no-no unless absolutely necessary. Bruce once told him every touch felt like maggots squirming across his skin, digging under his flesh, burning him with their disease. So Clark doesn’t touch, he just waits.

“Don’t leave me…” Bruce asks, and Clark doesn’t think Bruce is talking to him right now. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Clark shifts to sit beside Bruce while he works through his every nightmare, his heart aching with every beg for someone to stay with him and breaking for every sob that slips passed his lips when that someone doesn’t.

Clark has never been affected by fear toxin, but he’s seen it break apart even the most put together men and women, and wonders how a little liquid could be so potent and evil.

Eventually Alfred chimes in Bruce’s ear that Tim has finished a cure and Dick and Cassandra are already back on their feet, much to Alfred’s chagrin.

Clark smiles a little, because Alfred’ll be no happier once Bruce runs back out to join the fight with them.

Bruce gives him permission then to carry him back to the cave, and Clark is more than happy to oblige.


	2. Betting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lovelastart asked: Can I still ask for superbat prompts? Jason once said that Clark was boring because he only did good things (it's just accident) and Clark wanted to show Jason that he can be cool too so Clark and Jason play "being the red hood" and if Jason could do his vigilante works without guns showing and cursing Clark will wear "RED HOOD IS MY HERO" shirt for a month. Uuh Clark is already in established relationship with Bruce? LOL thanks!

“I can’t believe you agreed to that.”

“It’s not like anyone is going to get hurt by it,” Clark defends, throwing back the covers and joining Bruce in the bed. “In fact, if this works out and I lose, then no one will be shot for a whole week.”

“Hnn.”

Clark grins at Bruce’s pouting, moving closer to pull Bruce firmly to his chest.

A kiss to his neck, and they settle in for the morning.

* * *

“So you agreed to a whole week of no guns and no swearing?” Tim asks, fingers clacking away at his laptop.

Jason takes a sip of his Capri Sun, the only drink Tim has in his apartment, and flops onto the couch. “Only as Red Hood. I can swear all I want or shoot whoever I want as Jason Todd.”

Tim nods, only half listening. “Think you can do it?”

Jason shrugs. “I have some good incentive.”

* * *

And so the bet began the next night on patrol. Superman kept an ear out for Red Hood, Nightwing and Batman had been given all his guns, and the first night went well. The other nights were more of a struggle, especially when Red Hood stubbed his toe the fourth night.

He can fall off a two story building and land on a car with nothing more than a pained ‘ow’ but stubbing his toe warrants a dictionary of foul language. But he didn’t curse, and Superman had to give him kudos.

* * *

Clark was a good sport about the whole thing.

Bruce was not.

Jason couldn’t be happier.

Bruce never openly complained about Clark wearing the shirt, but you could see the fire burning in his eyes every time he looked at it.

It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Jason hadn’t found a loop hole.

Clark agreed to a whole week in the shirt. That meant no taking it off. And Clark had laughed and agreed.

So Clark wore it to work, he wore it to bed, he wore it under his Superman suit, and he would even have to wear it during sex. He probably didn’t get laid much that week.

The only time Jason allowed him to take it off was to shower. He isn’t a monster.

* * *

“I hate that shirt,” Bruce mumbles one night when he can’t sleep, mind too restless with thoughts.

Clark chuckles, head on Bruce’s chest and leg tangled between his thighs. “It isn’t so bad, and Jason seems happier.”

“Only because I’m miserable.”

Clark shakes his head, smile on his face. “He doesn’t hate you, Bruce. Would you be this upset if it had been Dick to make the bet?”

“Dick doesn’t use guns.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Bruce doesn’t respond, and Clark assumes the conversation is over. He settles back to sleep.

Bruce speaks up then. “I guess as long as he’s happy.”

Clark kisses the old softy right on the lips.


	3. Wish It Were Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Omg Superbat!!! Can I ask for can I ask for injured/kryptonite weakened Clark with worried Bruce? Thank you!

He told him not to do that. He freaking  _told_  him not to! Bruce marches down the corridors of the Watchtower, beyond pissed and overwhelmed with worry.

Metallo had exploded, sending splintered shards of kryptonite into every bit of his flesh it could find, and with him weakened, the metal shards of Metallo’s body had sunken in as well.

Superman hadn’t been in a good state when Martian Manhunter had teleported them to safety. Batman and Wonder Woman had to stay and fight Luthor and Brainiac. Flash was still evacuating the city.

Now, with the villains down and the citizens safe, Bruce has stripped off his cowl, and is making his way to the infirmary.

Clark has his suit stripped away, and J'onn has already picked all the pieces of kryptonite and metal from his skin, and removed them from the room. There are solar lamps turned on all around his body to help the healing process, but he’s got an oxygen mask on.

Clark smiles when Bruce enters. He looks weak and it makes Bruce sick.

“I told you–”

Clark drops his head back, still grinning. “I know you did, but how often do I say those same words to you?” His voice is rasping. He’s trying to make light, and it only makes Bruce angrier.

“You should have stayed on Brainiac,” Bruce accuses.

Clark shakes his head. “Metallo was going to self destruct, it was either me or you.”

“It shouldn’t have been–”

“If you say it shouldn’t have been me, I’ll get out of this bed and show you just how wrong you are.”

Bruce’s lips press together. Clark is the more important of the two of them, if one had to go down fighting, it should be Bruce.

Clark’s eyes soften, and he holds his hand out to Bruce. “Come here.”

Bruce walks over, feeling heavy with fatigue and too much emotion. He sits in the chair by Clark’s bedside, and takes his hand.

“You know I can heal Bruce.”

“You rely too much on that power.”

“Maybe, but if it means I don’t lose you, then I don’t care.”

Bruce just sighs and holds on tighter.


	4. X-Ray Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the-chicago-way asked: Can I ask for Superbat smut to heal my soul after the Clark mourning Bruce prompt (which was great and beautiful but now I hurt)? Prompt: “I can’t believe we’re dating.” Thank you!

Bruce is walking sex, always has been. Knowing he’s Batman just makes him that much more desirable. Him wanting Clark is nearly unimaginable.

But he does. Has for a long time now.

And as Clark presses his cock into the warm, wet heat, he cannot believe his luck.

Bruce sighs when he enters, well-prepped and kept on edge for too long. Clark had been very thorough, too thorough of you ask Bruce.

It paid off in the end, he slides in without a flinch from Bruce.

He’s kneeling between Bruce’s legs, and Bruce lay panting and restless beneath him, his beautiful face, usually stoic, now showing all the pleasure Clark is giving him.

“Move, Clark.”

Demanding as always. Clark chuckles and rolls his hips, once, and watches Bruce’s eyelashes flutter. He could tell while Bruce may have liked how that felt, he was more annoyed that it was all Clark gave.

“If you don’t–”

Clark rolls his hips again, keeping a steady rhythm. “Let me savor you,” he whispers, leaning onto his elbows to kiss Bruce.

“Harder,” Bruce says against his lips.

Right down to business then, nothing slow about it tonight. Clark sits back on his heels and grips Bruce’s hips. Bruce’s eyes are dark with lust, his lips parted and wet, swollen from kisses shared through the night. He’s so sexy.

Clark spreads his knees, hefts Bruce into his hands, and pulls him onto his cock.

Bruce groans, and Clark thrusts his hips forward, pressing in farther.

Bruce doesn’t falls apart, he doesn’t know how to, so Clark isn’t surprised when Bruce flips them as he starts to get close. He needs to be in control, doesn’t like giving it up.

He rides Clark’s cock with a desperation. Clark sucks bruises up his neck, steals his breath away with kisses, snaps his hips up to fight against Bruce’s hard thrusts down.

This isn’t gentle. This isn’t loving. This is frustration and lust. This is a dance they’ve long since learned the steps to.

Clark can feel Bruce tightening around him, his thighs trembling. He can see his eyes squeezing shut as he starts to reach his peak.

He wraps his hand around the head of Bruce’s cock, and moves it in a blur of motion. The vibrations are quick to do their job.

Bruce’s eyes snap open as he cums, a startled shout escaping his lips. He also slams down on Clark’s cock, and Clark is still rolling his hips up, seeking stimulation, completion.

Bruce grabs his wrist and shoves his hand away, shaking with over-sensitivity. Clark still hasn’t cum, but Bruce isn’t one to leave a job half done. So Clark watches Bruce recover, and waits patiently for his turn.

Bruce pants, his hands on Clark’s pecks, head dropped forward and hair in his eyes.

Clark reaches up to brush his sweaty hair away.

Bruce swats at him and sits straight again, on the cock still hard inside of him.

He looks down at his stomach, and presses against his abs. “Do you think you could watch yourself cum inside me?”

Clark’s face goes hot, and he covers it quickly, because that’s such an embarrassing thought. “You’re so weird. I can’t believe we’re dating,” he groans.

Bruce laughs, and Clark can  _feel_  it.


	5. Too Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Yo superbat prompt with Clark being a bit of a loveable dumbass and Bruce unfortunately falling for it and hating himself for it

Bruce combs his fingers through Clark’s hair again, and wonders why he let it get this far, why he let himself feel this much, especially for someone who could ruin him and everything his family has built.

A criminal empire rests in his hands, and an investigative reporter has stolen his heart. His only saving grace is that Clark works primarily in Metropolis, not Gotham.

He shouldn’t have slept with him when they first met, he shouldn’t have let Clark’s awkward, clumsy charm work on him as well as it had, he shouldn’t have let him into his home and get to know his kids, or the rest of the family.

Clark shifts in his sleep, pulls Bruce closer. Bruce was supposed to be at a trade off with Black Mask an hour ago. He’d had to send Dick and Jason in his place.

Clark wouldn’t fit in the family. His moral code alone would cast him out. He’d leave Bruce if he knew what he really is,  _who_  he really is.

Matches Malone is a name whispered with fear in the criminal underworld, the Matches family generations old and well respected.

Clark wouldn’t just leave him, in both disgust and fear, he’d report him, investigate him. They’d come to a head and Bruce would have to kill him.

Bruce should leave him now, sad and broken, before Clark can get any closer.

Or he could just kill him, shoot him between his pretty eyes while he’s still asleep, and all his worries would be gone. Another nobody lost in the depths of Gotham’s depravity.


	6. His Journalist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I really love your Superbat! Could we get some jealous/possessive Bruce? Can be super angsty if you want.

The party is in full swing, the donations are flowing, people are happily drinking their fill. Bruce would be too, non-alcoholic, but something more important has caught his eye.

Lex has Clark trapped at the back of the room, pressed to a wall, and is trying to flirt his way into Clark’s pants. Lex is just that way around Clark and Lois. Lois, however, is better at fighting off his advances; Clark tries to play as meek as possible.

So Bruce is going to be his Superman for the evening.

“Lex, what a pleasant surprise!” Bruce says a little too loudly, sloshing his ginger ale over his fingers when he raises his champagne flute in the air.

Lex looks over and plasters a smile on his face, fake enough but poor drunk Brucie shouldn’t be able to tell the difference. “Bruce, I wish I could say the same.”

Bruce laughs, throwing an arm around Lex’s shoulders and leaning too close. “You were always a funny one, Lex.” Bruce turns his eyes to Clark, and let’s his face show every ounce of want he’s ever felt for the man. Clark’s face goes red. “And who’s your friend?”

Bruce moves forward to take Clark’s hand, but Lex intercepts him. “This is Clark Kent. A journalist for the Daily Planet, and a close,  _personal_ friend of mine,” he says with a little grit.

Bruce pulls a face of confusion, then smooths it out with a smirk. He leans in close again, his voice low between them. “Like we were close,  _personal_  friends?”

He can see Clark stiffen at the new information, and is sure they’ll be talking about that later. Nevertheless, Lex just grows more annoyed with Brucie.

“No,” he says through his teeth. “But I think my chances of changing that would be better if you weren’t here.” He glares at Bruce pointedly, and Bruce sips whatever's left in his glass, sliding his eyes over to Clark for a once over, then back to Lex.

“Lexie, baby,” Bruce leans onto him again in that drunken way he’s perfected. They’re of a height, but Brucie has always been more charming. And little does Lex know, he’s already got Clark wrapped around his finger. “What’s a little competition between  _close, personal friends_ , hmm?”

He turns his attention to Clark before either can say anything, and uses a delicate finger not sticky with ginger ale to tip his chin up. Clark Kent has a slouch and stands shorter than Bruce Wayne, Superman has a few inches on him though.

“How about it Clark? Would you like to go home with one of us tonight?”

Clark’s lips press together, because he knows the game Bruce is playing, can see the jealousy, the possession in his eyes, and knows he’ll be getting laid tonight. Clark’s trying not to smile about it. “I’m here for work, and that would be very unprofessional, Mr. Wayne.”


	7. Remember Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Would you be up for Superbat, but with Bruce in his Matches Malone persona?

It feels like the whole League has eyes on him as he walks aimlessly through the shippin' crates on the docks. He takes out his box and puts a matchstick between his lips.

They ain’t even tryin’ to be inconspicuous. He can see shadows show themselves in directions he’s headin’ to steer him off, an' it works. He’d rather not face ‘em head on before he’s ready, but he’s growin’ tired of bein’ herded like cattle.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, a couple of shadows shows up at the end of the two shippin' crates he’s walkin’ between.

Malone comes up short, an' decides to turn around, only to find three shadows down the way he came. He hears footsteps on the crates on either side of him an' knows he’s surrounded.

He takes the match from between his teeth. “Alright, ya caught me. Now what?”

A burst of air, an' he finds himself caught around the middle, arms pinned to his side, by none other than a very pissed off Superman.

He smirks, hopin’ to rile him up further. “You got special plans for me or somethin’?”

Superman only narrows his eyes further, an' then…somethin’ weird starts happenin’. They… _fade_. An' just vanish! Malone tries not to freak out when suddenly their surroundin’s change.

He looks around. Everything is metal an' windowed an'…He stares out at the black space all around 'em, little stars twinklin’ an' the Earth way away from 'em. They’re in  _space_! They took him to their Watchtower! Oh, Christ! He’s gonna die!

“Diana,” Superman says, an' releases him. Malone stumbles back, away. He needs to get away. These people are crazy!

Wonder Woman doesn’t let him run. He’s surrounded by the Justice League an' Batman’s little group of brats. Batman ain’t here, so that’s somethin' at the very least.

Wonder Woman throws her golden lasso 'round him an' yanks. He ends up on fallin’ to the ground, shades knocked askew.

“Tell me who you are,” she demands.

The rope burns at him an' he grits his teeth against it. “You mean to tell me, you went an' kidnapped me without even knowin’ who I am?”

She pulls. The rope glows bright. It makes his blood sing with pain.

“Ma…Matches Malone,” he forces out.

Red Hood comes up to him an' kneels. He’s seen the kid fightin’ against Black Mask from time to time, but he ain’t crossed Malone yet.

“You’re Bruce Wayne, not Matches Malone. Matches Malone is dead.” The kid’s fingers taking his mustache in hand, an' he rips it off.

“Son of a b–!” His mouth is covered by the kid’s hand, an' his mask shows nothing. Malone hopes his eyes burn with rage an' not pain.

“Who. Are. You.”

The rope pulls at him, demands his truths.

Red Hood walks away, back to the group of brats.

“It will only grow more painful, the longer you resist.”

“Lady, I don’t know what you want me to say!”

She turns to Superman, standing by the brats. Her eyes look sorry but her grip doesn’t slacken. “He may be lost to us, Kal.”

Superman shakes his head. “He can’t be.”

“He doesn’t remember himself.”

Nightwing steps forward an' puts a hand on Superman’s shoulder. “Clark…I’m sorry.”

Red Hood speaks up then. “You could try kissing him.” It’s said sarcastically.

Malone doesn’t much care. “Ey, look. I ain’t kissin’ nobody, alright?”

“This isn’t a fairytale, Todd. How about you try coming up with something useful,” the little one spits.

Red Hood turns on the little one. “I don’t see you coming up with anything, demon brat.”

“Hey!” Nightwing steps back to the group to stop Red Hood an' the little one from fightin’.

The bigger little one has a thumb to his lips, thinkin’ too hard about somethin’.

“Try slapping him then start again.”

Red Hood stops fighting at that. He raises his hand in the air. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Malone has grown tired of watchin’ 'em. The rope is burnin’ an' he feels dizzy.

* * *

When Bruce wakes up, he feels thick and groggy. He hears something scrambling, like feet trying too hard to find themselves, then a dull thud followed by a half shouted, “He’s up!”

He hears the  _he’s up_  echo threw the room, and everywhere else outside of it.

He forces his eyes open, and glances around. He’s in the medbay in the Watchtower. And Dick is in the room with him.

His door bursts open then, and his eyes swivel. Clark is in the doorway, Barry right behind him. Clark comes into the room in a blur and Bruce finds himself wrapped in his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Clark says into his shoulder.

Bruce brings up an arm to wrap around Clark. “What happened?”

Dick steps up and gives a debriefing while everyone else slowly filters into the room, or lingers in the hall when it becomes too full.

“You were undercover as Matches Malone. We lost word from you for a while, and eventually Damian and I dressed up as Matches Jr and Lil’ Matches and found out where you were, but your were.. different.

"We still don’t know what happened to you, but we think it may have been Joker and Harley. You forgot who you were, and only remembered yourself as Malone.”

Bruce lays back and Clark lets him go.

“I’m okay?”

J'onn nods. Bruce can almost feel the Martian in his mind, playing with his thoughts and memories. He’s too weak to fight him out. “You seem to have yourself back.”

Bruce shutters when he leaves, his brain thoroughly  _touched_. It’s an unsettling feeling.

Clark pets his hair from his face, and everyone but Clark and the boys start to clear out.

Bruce takes Clark’s hand, gives it a squeeze, and lets his eyes fall closed.


	8. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the-chicago-way asked: Superbat prompt: Clark and Bruce make up after a big argument. Thank you!

“You’re an idiot.”

Clark scoffs and doesn’t bother turning around and acknowledging that to Bruce’s face. “Is that your way of apologizing? ‘Cause it could use some work.”

Bruce is quiet for a long time, and Clark can just image him; standing sullen and brooding, cape draped around his body and the whiteouts for his eyes in slits.

“…I’m sorry.”

If Clark wasn’t so sure that his ears were fine, he’d think he heard wrong.

He turns his head, and Bruce looks like he thought, but not for the same reasons. His shoulders are slumped, his cape hiding his form, hugging him. His eyes are in slits, but passed the mask his face is full of tension and distraught.

“I was worried,” Bruce finally says. His hands ball into fists at his sides and he refuses to look Clark in the eye. “I thought you were going to die. I’ve lost–”

_I’ve lost so many people I love already_  hangs unsaid between them. Clark rises and stands before Bruce, but doesn’t touch him, doesn’t dare breathe for fear of breaking this fragile moment.

He wonders for a moment if Bruce will speak at all or let that be it, let his actions speak from there. Bruce reaches up and pulls the cowl back.

He’s got a bruise forming on his forehead, faint since his head is thoroughly protected by the cowl. Clark’s fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to smooth away his worries and fears. Bruce is always so riddled with both, it’s a wonder how the man gives off such cool confidence all hours of the day and night.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice almost hoarse with it.

Clark pulls him into his arms then. Bruce doesn’t hug back, but his body loses its tension, and that’s enough for Clark. “I’m sorry too.”


	9. He'll Be Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Superbat and taking care of one of the batkids, either injury or illness. Just Bruce getting to be a good batdad. ^_^

Clark wanders down to the Batcave. Bruce got home nearly an hour ago but he hadn’t come up yet.

Clark gives the cave a quick scan and finds him in the infirmary.

Clark sighs, and floats over.

Bruce is leaning over Dick’s bedside, combing his fingers through his hair. The cowl is pulled back and Bruce’s face is stricken.

Damian is asleep by Dick, an extra blanket placed on top of him. Dick got sick with one of Ivy’s toxins a week ago. They’d made a cure, and it’s slowly working through his system, but he’s been coughing and dazed, hot with fever but freezing cold.

Clark stops in the doorway and leans against the frame, feet back on the floor.

Damian had taken Dick’s illness the hardest. He loves Dick, and he’s taken to sleeping by his side. He wants to be the first to see Dick when he wakes up.

Bruce only seems to break down when he’s alone–-when he  _thinks_ he’s alone.

He runs his fingers through Dick’s hair again.

“He’s getting better,” Clark says, his voice soft.

Bruce pauses a moment, then takes his hand away and nods. “I know.”

Clark comes to stand by his side. “It’s okay to be worried.”

“I know.”

Dick had been hit in the face with the poisonous plant and had tripped and fallen off a thirty story building. He nearly hit the ground. Clark had caught him at the last second, but Dick was already out from whatever the plant had done.

Bruce had seemed fine, if urgent, but inwardly he’d been a wreck. His heart was pounding in fear, an anxious sweat had broken out, and he’d become angry. Mostly with himself.

Clark wraps his arm around Bruce’s waist and kisses his head. He whispers into his hair, “Do you want to stay down a little longer?”

Bruce looks at Dick, then shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.”

Clark follows Bruce through the cave, putting the batsuit away while Bruce showers.

He keeps an extra ear out for Dick during the night, and he keeps Bruce wrapped firmly in his arms while he gets his measly three hours of sleep. Bruce sleeps restlessly, and Clark knows his thoughts are on everything he could have done differently.


	10. It's Only A Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Are you still taking prompts? Just found all your Superbat stuff and am hooked! Could you write something with the two of them flirting/bickering while on patrol or during a battle? Unless you aren’t taking prompts. Then please just accept my thanks and adoration. Ok. Thank you!

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you.”

Batman knocks a gun out of a thug’s hand, then punches him in the face. “It might.”

Superman rolls his eyes. “It’s only for a week.”

“I don’t care.”

Batman flings a couple of batarangs at two more thugs pulling guns out of their pants. He takes a hit to the back of the head by one who came up behind him, then turns to give that same guy a kick to the chest.

“You know he likes you.” Superman is reclined against the wall of the alley, watching with his arms crossed. Not in the least bit worried that Batman can’t handle himself against seven opponents.

 _And he shouldn’t be,_  Bruce thinks as he knocks another one out with a hit to the jaw. “That’s the problem.” He throws a batarang at a thug trying to make a run for it. “He likes me more than  _you_  like me, and we both know how much you like me.”

“Whoa, wait.” The last thug draws up short, the fist he made to punch Batman falling limp. “Are you two, like,  _together_  or somethin’?”

They pay him no mind. “C'mon B, I need someone to watch him.”

“Ask Wonder Woman.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Fine!” He takes out the last thug with a swift kick to the chest. “Fine. I’ll watch Krypto.”

* * *

“An anonymous prisoner claims he heard Batman and Superman themselves claim to be dating,” Vicki Vale says to the camera.

Gossip isn’t usually her thing, but it has to do with superheroes, and more specifically Batman. Even she has her exceptions.

“He says Batman was picking them off one by one while Superman stood off to the side and asked for a favor. Here’s Jack Ryder with more.”

They switch the feed to inside Blackgate, where Jack Ryder is standing outside the cell of one of the men Batman took out a week ago, his face blurred.

“Superman called Batman ‘B.’ Can you image being so comfortable with Batman that you can call him 'B’ and get away with it?”

Bruce pets Krypto’s head, the dog laying across his lap, and watches the news with amusement.


	11. That's Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Superbat - getting found out because they showed up accidentally wearing each other’s clothes. Thanks! :D

“I told you we didn’t have time for a quickie!”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter now!”

“Of course it does, we’re late!”

“You’re usually a lot happier after you get laid, what happened?”

Bruce glares at Clark as he fasten his boots. Clark is half dressed and staring at Bruce rather than working to get his suit on. “What happened is that I said ‘Clark, stop undoing my pants, we don’t have time.’ You said 'I’ll be quick.’ It’s half an hour later, and we’re late for a meeting, and you still aren’t dressed!”

Clark glares, hands in fists on his hips. “You want me to hurry up and get dressed? Fine.”

In the next few blinks, Bruce finds himself sitting in his chair at the meeting table, Clark by his side. They’d been in his room in the Watchtower; they arrived early to discuss points for this very meeting.

Diana smiles, looking a little too happy, especially for a meeting about what everyone’s weak points are. “I’m glad you two decided to join us.”

Hal puts his face in his hands and Barry has one over his mouth. Bruce looks down at himself, but sees nothing wrong.

He hums, but stands to begin the presentation. Clark is smiling, his look an evil twin to Diana’s.

Bruce goes over flaws in battle and how best to counter them, who complements whom best on the field. All throughout, someone will smile for no reason, or Hal or Author will snort to hide a laugh.

Bruce hits his snapping point when Dinah whispers something into Diana’s ear, a giggle on her lips.

“Perhaps,” Bruce nearly growls. “Now would be a good time for a break.”

Clark stands, clapping his hands together. “Great idea, B. I could use a snack.” He turns, and Bruce would kill him if he could.

Clark struts out of the room, Batman’s cape hanging from his shoulders.


	12. Poisoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Superbat but w Clark dying Mayhaps? Just curious to see ur take on that one 🤧

It burns.

Everything burns.

Clark blinks his eyes open. Through the blur he sees Lois tied to a chair on the other side of the room, a wrap around her mouth to keep her muffled. She’s crying.

Clark squints, his ears are ringing.

He rolls onto his back, and finally takes in the green all around him, glowing, singing, setting the blood in his veins on fire.

Kryptonite.

“Ah, Superman, you finally join us,” Luthor says as he walks in. He squats to Clark’s level by the cage. “Or is it Clark Kent? Or maybe Kal-El?”

Clark feels sick, his whole body shaking. Luthor smiles at his suffering, then stands and walks over to Lois. He stands behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She tries to jerk away, but he holds firm.

“I know you and Miss Lane used to have a bit of history, but I thought this show wouldn’t be complete without the new beau.” Luthor claps his hands, and a few of his employees wearing grey jumpsuits roll out another chair.

Clark’s heart clenches when he sees Bruce brought in, head lulling and eyes unfocused. Luthor drugged him.

Clark wonders if Lois is drugged too, can’t make his eyes focus long enough to tell.

Luthor pulls Bruce’s face to his own by his chin. Bruce grunts.

“Maybe once you’re gone, we can pick back up where we left off.”

Clark tries to roll over again, to get his hands under himself and get to his feet.

He stumbles, sweating and weak. He slams into the cell wall. Luthor walks over, uncaring. Clark reaches through the bars and grabs his collar, his fist shaking. “Let them go,” he demands.

Luthor smirks and smacks his hand away. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

Clark falls to his knees. He looks at his skin, sees his veins turning green and pulsing with kryptonite poisoning.

Luthor injected it into him.

Luthor has a chair brought out for himself, and sits between Lois and Bruce, both struggling and drugged, tied to their chairs and gagged.

Luthor is still smirking. “And now we wait.”

Clark’s vision blurs, blacks, and when he next opens his eyes, he’s lying flat on the cell floor. Luthor has his arm around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce is shouting something, his wrists twisting to get free.

Clark is on fire, every breath like swallowing glass, blood dripping from his nose. Even if Bruce could get free, beat Luthor, and rescue Lois and Clark, Clark is too far gone to save.

Clark closes his eyes, chokes back a sob.

When the fire starts to fade, the places it leaves are consumed in cold.


	13. Karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Super bat? Ware they don't know there secret identity's. Oliver and Diana bring out a karaoke machine and announce that everyone is singing, Batman purposely sings badly and not in tune and Superman sings some America loving rock song, later Diana and Olive drag everyone in civilian form to a karaoke place, Bruce sings better then the song itself and Clark sings a country song with his accent, they go onto call each other out and everyone looks in shock "what, they sound the same"

Wonder Woman and Green Arrow insisted it’d help better them as a team to have some bonding time.

Batman disagrees.

What would help them as a team is to train together. Karaoke is not his idea of a bonding exercise.

He’s forced to go regardless.

He’d be content to sit and watch, but even that’s asking for too much. Wonder Woman forces him onto the stage, puts a mic in his hands, and selects a song of her choosing.

When _Barbie Girl_ comes on, he has half a mind to not open his mouth at all, but everyone cheers and goads him on. He monotones the entire song, and when it’s over he glares at everyone.

Superman hops on stage next, because he loved the idea of karaoke night, and selects _Jailhouse Rock_. He sings it pretty well; he’s no Elvis Presley, but pretty good all the same. He even dances a little, which makes Batman snort and smirk.

* * *

It’s pure bad luck that Oliver would want to drag him later that week back to the same karaoke club. But Brucie Wayne is supposedly well passed drunk and up for anything.

So Bruce stumbles up the stairs with Oliver at his side, and they sing drunkenly to _Honky Tonk Badonkadonk_ , much to the pleasure of several drunken women in the crowd.

Bruce would rather be at home, getting ready to patrol for the night.

He and Oliver step down, and Clark Kent steps onto the stage. He’s seen him around Gotham on a rare occasion. Mostly he’s in the Daily Planet paper sharing a byline with Lois Lane. From what Bruce has read, he’s a good journalist.

He ends up singing _Don’t Stop Believin’_ and Bruce thinks he recognizes his tone, the way he dances as he sings.

With wide eyes, he realizes who he’s looking at.

As Clark Kent steps down, Bruce walks up to him. Clark’s face goes red as soon as he sees Brucie prowling towards him.

Bruce places his hand against his chest, where the House of El symbol usually rests. “You were really good up there.”

“Um,” he clears his throat, tugs as his frumpy tie. “Thank you. I thought you were good too.”

Bruce smirks, taking that frumpy tie in hand, and pulls Clark closer. “I can show you just how good,” Bruce whispers against his ear.

“Woo! Go get ‘em, Bruce!” Oliver shouts over the crowd. Bruce keeps smirking despite it. Oliver is drunk and really doesn’t know how to be a good wingman in his current state.

Clark stumbles behind him as Bruce walks them to the bathroom, muttering little apologies to everyone they pass. Once inside, Bruce presses Clark against the door, reaching up to lock the latch in place.

Clark doesn’t meet his eyes. “Um, Mr. Wayne, I know this would probably be a, uh, a  _huge_  honor to anyone else, but–”

Clark cuts himself off when he sees Brucie is no longer smirking or flirting, but gripping his lapels in his fists and glaring at him.

“Mr. Wayne?”

“Your disguise is glasses? That’s all you wear to cover your face?” And people by that?

Clark begins to look genuinely worried now. “Who are you?”

“If you don’t know who I am by now, then you’re the worst friend in the world.”

Clark blinks once, then a timid smile comes to his lips. “Batman?”

Bruce smirks. “I can’t believe people can look at you and not see Superman.”

Clark comes to his full height, a few inches taller than Bruce, and is much more relaxed now. Bruce smooths out the lapels he wrinkled.

“Actually, a few people have pointed out how much I look like Superman,” he chuckles.

“What do you tell them?”

Clark smiles. “I get that a lot.”

Bruce leans against the door beside him, folding his arms. “And that works?”

He nods, then bites his lip. “I just can’t believe Batman, the most terrifying figure in Gotham, is Brucie Wayne, the slutty alcoholic everyone loves.”

Bruce shrugs. “It’s a good cover, for now.”


	14. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: So, it’s been a very long week and it’s only Monday. Can I ask for some very fluffy Superbat? I love them when they are angsty, but I also adore it when these two dorks are happy and everything is fine for more than two seconds. Something domestic where they’ve been together for years, but are still absolutely crazy about each other in their Superbat way. I am so sorry if this is too vague. Please make them kiss. Ok, that’s all. I love your work and will be thrilled with whatever you write.

“Today’s the day,” Dick grins as he straightens his tie.

Jason rolls his eyes. He’s reclined in a chair with his tie loose around his neck. “We know, Dick, you’ve only brought it up every day for the last two weeks.”

Dick shoots him a look through the mirror. Alfred comes in, a suit laid out in his hands. Bruce is still asleep, only got in for the night an hour ago.

Clark is in Kansas, collecting his parents. Conner was going to help, but he’s here with Tim instead. Tim is on his fifth cup of coffee for the morning and his hands are shaking too much to function.

Dick walks over to the bed. “Bruce, time to wake up. You can sleep later.”

Alfred throws open the curtains and lets the rising sun’s light shine in. Bruce pulls his pillow over his head with a groan.

Jason stands. “Dickie bird’s right. Time to get up, old man.”

“Master Jason, fix your tie,” Alfred says, then rips the blankets off the bed.

Bruce is thankfully wearing underwear, and groans from under his pillow.

* * *

Clark is nearly vibrating with excitement and nerves. His ma straightens his tie for the third time this morning.

“Clark, settle down!” she scolds him. “I can’t fix your tie with you shaking like that.”

Clark takes her hands and gives her a big grin. “Sorry, Ma. I’m just really happy.”

Her whole face softens and she offers him a smile, squeezing his hands. “I know, hon. And I’m happy  _for_  you.”

Clark bounces on his toes, still grinning.

“Best hurry,” Pa says, rising from his seat with a grunt. “Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

* * *

The room is filled to the brim. Every Leaguer, Junior Leaguer, and sidekick having come to the event.

Bruce doesn’t like that the world is being left defenseless, but doesn’t truly fault anyone for wanting to be here.

No masks allowed. This is a formal affair for their civilian identities. No press either, officially. Clark’s friends from the Daily Planet were welcome to come, and they did, but as guests.

Bruce had to explain months before that it was an invitation only gathering, just friends and family.

Many of Gotham high society were offended at not getting an invitation. Bruce hadn’t cared. Brucie had some explaining to do though. His fiance is shy, he’d said, he isn’t used to high society like Bruce and the kids are, Bruce is trying for a slow transition.

They had nodded, appeased.

Clark and Bruce stand together, hands held, and listened to Oliver; he’d gotten ordained on the internet to do this for them.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today–”

* * *

They’d kissed, and everyone had cheered. Clark had picked Bruce up, because he thought he was funny, and walked them back down the aisle.

The party after was held at the manor, and it was wild.

People were constantly dinging their glasses for Bruce and Clark to kiss, and at one point Hal had gotten drunk enough to climb on top of a table and demand they make out.

Clark had blushed and tried to talk him down, but Bruce had grabbed his tie and pulled him in for a round of tonsil tennis.

After that, Clark stayed red faced and Bruce had a good feeling about how their night would end.


	15. First Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Could you write Superbat and their first kiss? However you think that went down. :)  
> &  
> the-chicago-way asked: Sooo, if you wanted to write the other two Superbat first kisses you have in mind, I would definitely not object. :D

**_First version of their first kiss:_ **

Bruce watches Superman pace the length of the batcave, his cape trailing after him.

Bruce had just gotten out of the shower. He’s only got sweatpants on and his hair is still dripping, but Clark has something on his mind, so he folds his arms and waits.

Clark runs his fingers though his hair, tugs, groans, paces, and is generally aggravated about  _something_.

The boys have all gone up to bed, the girls went to Barbara’s for the night. Alfred informed him his dinner was in the fridge and Bruce had wished him a goodnight. It’s just him and Clark.

Clark eventually stops pacing and drops his arms, turning to Bruce.

He walks up to him and takes a breath; it blows out icy on Bruce’s damp skin.

“I’m going to do something, and I want to talk about it afterwards.”

Bruce raises a brow, gives a nod.

“I mean it, Bruce. Even if it makes you angry,” Clark says.

“Okay.”

Clark nods and takes another breath. Then he leans in, and presses his lips to Bruce’s. Bruce’s eyes widen, and Clark pulls away.

His eyes are narrow as he watches Bruce’s reactions. “…Your heart’s pounding.”

Bruce forces himself to calm, to get his wits about him. He blinks, and shifts.

They spend far too long staring at each other without saying anything, but Bruce is sure he’s expected to respond first.

He doesn’t.

Clark eventually drifts to glaring. “So?”

Bruce makes sure to keep his heartbeat steady through careful breathing. “What was that supposed to mean, Clark?”

“It means I like you.”

“Then why are you so angry?”

“I don’t know!” Clark shouts, throwing his hands in the air and pacing anew. “I’m frustrated! I like you, and I want to be with you, but I couldn’t figure out how to  _tell_  you that!” His hands end up tangled in his hair again.

“Clark.”

“And every time I talked to Diana about it, all she said was that I should just be honest and up front about it. And I see where she’s coming from, I do. Honesty is the best policy with her, always has been, but I–”

“Clark!” Bruce cuts him off, coming to stand in front of him.

Clark stills, lowers his hands to his sides.

Bruce takes a step closer, into Clark’s space. “Show me.”

He frowns down at Bruce for a moment, unmoving. “What?”

Bruce raises a hand and rests it on Clark’s shoulder, slides it up into his hair to pull him closer. “Show me,” he whispers against Clark’s lips.

This kiss is better than the first for two reasons. One, Bruce is an active participant this time. And two, Clark calms at his touch, all the anger and frustration rolling away like a fog come and gone.

Clark wraps his hands around Bruce’s waist to pull him closer. Bruce puts his other hand into Clark’s hair too. He opens his mouth when Clark nips his lip, and they deepen the kiss.

* * *

 

**_Second version of their first kiss:_ **

“You almost died, Clark!” Bruce slams his Watchtower room door closed behind him, the latch sliding into place automatically.

“You think you were any better? You have two fractured ribs!” Clark turns, pointing an accusing finger at Bruce.

“That isn’t the same as being dead!” Bruce shoves him. He doesn’t know why; Clark doesn’t budge. He’s mad though, and Clark never seems to understand why him lying on his potential deathbed is upsetting.

“Why do you even care? I’m fine!” Clark backs Bruce to the wall, his feet on the floor, but every step makes Bruce feel trapped.

“I just do,” he grits out.

“Why, Bruce? You never get this mad when it’s one of the kids, or Diana, or Oliver, or–”

“Because I love you!”

Clark’s words catch in his throat, his eyes go wide.

Bruce turns his head. “I…I didn’t mean that. I love the kids too, but they don’t throw themselves recklessly into danger like you do.”  _Jason does, actually,_ he thinks _._

Clark shakes his head. “Back up. You said you love me.”

Bruce glares at Clark again. “Yeah, well what good is that if you’re dead the next time I turn around.”

Clark glares right back. “Why are you always such a dick?”

Clark kisses him, angry and spiteful, biting Bruce’s lip and pulling his body closer, despite the fractured ribs he was so concerned with earlier.

Bruce bites back just as hard, pulls Clark’s hair, and digs his heel into his back when he gets a leg around his waist. It doesn’t affect Clark, he knows that. He just doesn’t care.

* * *

 

**_Third version of their first kiss:_ **

They walk out of the cafe, warmed by the coffee even as Gotham’s rain soaks them to the bone.

Batman takes out his grapple gun and shoots up to the roof of the building over, at least ten stories up. Superman flies up after him.

Batman’s suit is shiny from the rain, and Superman is no better, the lights of the city dimmer than Metropolis, but just as bad for hiding in the shadows.

Superman wraps an arm around Batman’s waist and pulls him close. “For a first date, that wasn’t so different from our usual coffee runs.”

Batman smirks, wraps his arms around Superman’s shoulders. “I tend to think it’s what comes after the first date that’s more important.”

“Oh yeah?” Superman smiles, cocking a brow. “And what’s coming after ours?”

Batman leads him until Superman is pressing his back against the wall of the adjacent building. Batman curls his gloved fingers into Superman’s wet hair. “The first kiss.”

Superman grins. He leans forward, barely pressing his lips to Batman’s warm, soft lips.

“I think,” Batman says as Superman pulls away, eyes closed and head tilted back. “I think you can do a lot better than that, Superman.”

Superman laughs, gripping Batman by his thighs and picking him up, leaning him against the wall.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

They kiss again, rocking together, the rain falling around them, Gotham’s city noises a quiet backdrop for once.

The kids can watch the cities for a few more minutes. Then Superman will return to Metropolis and Batman will get back out on the streets, both of them fighting the good fight.

Until then, Superman holds tighter, Batman moans softly, and they end their first date the way all good first dates do.


	16. Worst Patient Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: In honor of you being sick, how about Superbat with Clark taking care of sick Bruce? (Feel better soon!)

Clark loves Bruce, he really does, but once you’ve tried literally tying your sick boyfriend to his bed to keep him from going out on patrol and he still manages to escape, you start to lose patience.

“Put me down!”

Batman struggles in Clark’s grip as he manhandles him back up the stairs from the batcave. The kids would laugh, but if they were sick, they can all think of one Super or another who would treat them the same way.

Alfred huffs a laugh under his breath though.

“You need to rest, Bruce.”

“If you don’t put me down right nhg–” his words catch, and he cuts off with a coughing fit. Clark sighs and holds him closer.

Bruce doesn’t get sick often, but when he does, it’s something that would put a normal person in the hospital. He wonders if he should call Leslie.

Bruce slumps in his arms, pulling the cowl off his head then rubbing at his face. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Fine. Take me to bed.”

Clark smiles and kisses his too warm head. “That was the plan.”

* * *

Clark gets Bruce to his room, tucks the batsuit in a dresser, and gets him a cool rag for his head.

Alfred comes up shortly after, a bowl of warm soup in hand and an earpiece for the batcave tucked in his ear.

Clark takes the tray from his hands. “Thanks, Alfred. I can take it from here.”

Alfred offers a smile and departs for the batcave once more.

Clark helps Bruce sit up, even as he gripes about it.

“Christ, you’re a terrible patient, Bruce.”

“I didn’t ask,” Bruce grumbles.

Clark would head out for one last patrol for the night, but he’s sure if he took his eyes off Bruce, he’d find Batman out on the streets by the time he got back.

So he stays, and places a pillow behind Bruce’s back so he can eat. And Bruce mumbles complaints about Clark the entire time.

Eventually Clark gets him to go to sleep, with Clark on the far side of the bed. He’s too hot for Bruce to sleep beside, unless they both want to wake up drenched in his sweat.

Clark has his hands behind his head, listening to Bruce’s nasally breathing, the kids goofing around out on the streets, Alfred making himself a cup of tea, and closes his eyes.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.


	17. Step Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Thank you so much for your superbat writings from the prompts, love them all. I actually wanna ask you about how the kids would act around the cheerful clark and now more relaxed bruce. Or maybe about how conner acts around bruce? I like bruce unconsciously adopts him but I want to know your take on this. Thank you!

“So,” Jason says as he walks into the manor’s gym. Dick and Conner are helping Tim with his flips and Damian is sparring with Jon. Jason just came from breakfast, after finding Bruce and Clark making out in the kitchen. “He just needed to get laid.”

Dick bursts out laughing, and drops Tim in the process; Conner helps him up. Jon frowns. Damian scoffs.

“What’s so funny?” Jon asks, jumping back when Damian swings his katana at him again.

Bruce will get mad if he catches Damian using anything other than a wooden staff for training.

Jason walks up to Damian and Jon, and they stop sparring. Jason looks down at Jon, his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. Jason smiles.

He opens his mouth to tell Jon what getting laid is.

“Jason!”

His mouth snaps shut, and he turns to see Clark in the doorway, a strained smile on his face.

“He’s too young for that kind of talk.”

Jon stomps his foot. “No, I’m not!”

Clark raises a brow. “Give it a couple more years, buddy.”

Jon looks indignant, but he’s probably learned that pitching a fit doesn’t make you look grown up.

“Sorry, kid. Daddy said no.” Jason shrugs.

Clark pulls a face. “Please don’t call me that.”

“You don’t care when Bru–”

In a flash, Clark is holding a hand over Jason’s mouth and cupping the back of his head so he can’t pull away. “Stop it.”

Jason laughs.

* * *

Bruce and Cassandra are down in the cave when Conner and Jon come down. Cassandra is sparring with a dummy and Bruce is lifting weights.

“Hey, Bruce?” Conner calls.

Bruce sets the bar back in place and sits up, wiping his face with a towel. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Tim?”

“He’s at work.”

“Like…” Conner glances at the suits lining the wall, a brow raised.

“No, it’s daylight,” Bruce chuckles. “He’s at Wayne Enterprises.”

Conner nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Why aren’t you there?”

“My day,” Cassandra pipes in, walking over.

Bruce nods. “Her day.”

“What does that mean?” Jon asks.

“I’m spending the day with Cass.”

Conner purses his lips.

“Join?” Cassandra asks.

Jon gasps, a smile spreading across his face. It’s summer break for him, and Clark has him for the month. He hasn’t been at the manor more than a couple days, but he’s already restless. “Can we?”

Cassandra shrugs, a smile coming to her face. She points at Bruce.

“Please, Bruce?” Jon asks, folding his fingers together and begging.

Bruce shrugs and lays back out on the bench. “If Cass doesn’t mind, then it’s fine by me. We need to finish up here and shower then we’ll head out.”

Jon cheers, and Conner nods, and Cassandra returns to her dummy.

“Conner?” Bruce asks, taking the bar off its rest and picking up where he left off. “Can you spot me?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. He comes around to join Bruce. Jon wanders over to Cassandra, and she lets him punch the dummy, tweaking his stance where it’s needed.

Bruce is taking Cassandra shopping then to Big Belly Burger, and from there, maybe the zoo? She hasn’t decided yet. The boys are more than welcome as long as she’s okay with it.


	18. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Could I prompt one of your Superbat headcanons? Bruce having a nightmare and Clark helping him through the aftermath of it.

Bruce shakes, a cold sweat breaking out over his skin. “Ngh,” he gets through clenched teeth. “No…”

His hands fist the sheets around him. His toes curl.

He’s panting, can’t catch his breath. His foot kicks out. His heart pounds.

Bruce manages to get his eyes open with a few heavy blinks. He swallows.

He sits up, pushing the damp sheets away until they fall off the bed. He thinks about heading to the cave. He could work on upgrading the batmobile or sharpen his batarangs. He could beat a punching bag.

He curls his legs in, knees to his chest. He wraps his arms around his knees and closes his eyes. “Clark?”

A tap comes from the doors to his balcony, and he looks over, finding Clark already out there, floating, plaid pajama pants on and hair windswept. He gives Bruce a lopsided smile, but worry shines in his eyes.

Bruce gets up, the cold of the room chilling the sweat still on his skin. He opens the doors and Clark steps in. He looks at Bruce, and Bruce holds his stare. “…Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” The same question and answer every time. The pattern is almost calming. Reassuring. That not everything in his life is crumbling to pieces around him.

Clark gives a solid nod, and they head farther into the bedroom. Bruce grabs a fresh set of sheets from the closet, and Clark turns on the TV and flips to a channel with something they’ll both enjoy without having to dedicate too much attention to it.

Clark watches more TV than Bruce, he knows what channels are best. Bruce only ever watches the news.

They settle in together. Some cartoon Bruce sees Dick watching in the mornings with Damian is on. They seem more for Dick than Damian though.

They have their backs to the headboard, and eventually Bruce lays his head on Clark’s shoulder. “It was the kids this time.”

Clark wraps his arm around Bruce’s waist, places a kiss to his head. “What happened?”

Bruce shakes his head.

“Okay,” Clark presses his lips to Bruce’s head again, they stay there.

“When do you need to leave in the morning?” Bruce knows Clark would be willing to call in late, take a day off altogether if Bruce needed it. Bruce wouldn’t do that though. Clark knows that.

“Six.”

Bruce nods. “…I can’t sleep.”

“We’ll stay up then.”

Even when Bruce feels at his lowest, Clark is always there, offering whatever support Bruce needs. So Bruce curls close to Clark, and they watch the silly cartoon, and Clark holds him throughout the night.


	19. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: How about married Superbat on their honeymoon? Just really happy and stupid in love. Thanks! - Long Week Anon :)

They hadn’t thought a honeymoon was necessary. They’ve been together for the better part of a decade already and have known each other longer still, and Bruce is always loathe to be away from Gotham for any reason other than  _business_.

But the kids set them up for a cruise, had presented the tickets with giant grins and packed suitcases.

So, the next morning, Alfred drives them to Metropolis bay to hop on the ship and set off on their honeymoon.

They show their tickets, then are escorted to their room.

A cramped single queen bed cabin is where they find themselves, even though the kids had Tim use Bruce’s card to buy the room and he easily could have gotten them a suite with a better view.

Clark laughs, then places his bag on the dresser and hops onto the bed, placing his hands behind his head and smiling. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

Bruce stares at Clark for a moment, at his smiling face and the bed, the room around them.

Then he remembers.

With a smile, Bruce joins Clark, pressing a kiss to his lips. “How did they know this is where we first met?”


	20. World On His Shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I love your superbat fics! I have a prompt about Bruce comforting Clark because maybe Clark feels like failing for not fast enough to save a life or something, up to you. And Bruce is there for Clark to be hold tightly, and Bruce strokes his hair softly and hums a song that Clark loved in his childhood because once he told Bruce that that song calmed him. Clark is able to sleep then. Thank you!

Clark’s apartment is never locked. He’s Superman; even if someone were willing to rob Clark Kent, they wouldn’t accomplish much.

So Bruce walks in with barely a rasp of his knuckles against the door.

Clark is sitting on the couch, head in his hands and still in his super suit. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge Bruce being there at all. Bruce doesn’t need to be acknowledged, Clark knows it’s him.

Bruce closes the curtain over the door letting out to his tiny balcony. Turns on a lamp by the couch, turns off the lights, mutes the TV.

He wanders into the kitchen, taking off his suit jacket as he does, tugging at his tie. He starts the coffee maker; some old thing Clark is too fond of to replace until it breaks. When it does, maybe he’ll use the new one Bruce bought him a year ago, sitting right beside the old one, untouched.

With that done, Bruce places his jacket and tie on the table and heads back into the living room.

Clark hasn’t moved.

Bruce sits beside him, eyes forward. He’s never been good at being tender, not when people are looking. But he  _knows_  how, and knows what works best on the people around him when they need it.

He slides his hand over Clark’s back, hears him take a stuttering breath through his hands. Bruce leans Clark against his side, and when Clark lowers his hands, Bruce wraps him in a hug.

Clark craves touch, needs it in a way Bruce has always avoided. Now, Bruce pushes that aside, because Clark needs this, needs him.

Clark wraps his arms around Bruce and buries his face into his shoulder.

Bruce doesn’t tell him it will be okay, doesn’t give his sympathies or tell him it wasn’t his fault. Bruce has never wanted to hear those things, he doesn’t plan to start saying them to others.

“I’m here,” he says instead. He cards his fingers through Clark’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

Clark’s breathing is rough, trying to fight back tears, trying to keep strong. But even the strongest man in the world breaks down sometimes.

So much rests on Clark’s shoulders, people hold him to such high expectations all the time, and when he doesn’t meet them, he isn’t met with sympathy. He’s met with anger and hurt and outrage.

It weighs him down.

He has a sensitive, caring heart. He can only handle so much.

So when a hiccup escapes Clark’s lips, a tear slips from his eye onto Bruce’s shirt, he holds tighter and lets him cry.


	21. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Could you write Superbat on Father’s Day with their kids? Very fluffy? Thank you!

Clark nearly drops his coffee when his apartment door is thrown open and Jon makes a beeline for his bedroom. “Wake up, Dad!”

“In the kitchen, bud,” Clark mutters into his coffee.

Jon comes running in the kitchen, Lois coming in behind him.

“He’s yours for the day,” she says, dropping off a present. “Have fun, but not too much fun.”

She smiles and leaves, kissing Jon on his head as she passes.

Jon grabs a mug and tries to get himself some coffee. Clark stops him. “Nuh-uh. Stunts your growth.”

Jon groans. “You always say that.” He gets milk from the fridge.

“Have you already eaten?” he asks.

Jon nods. He chugs down his milk, then belches. “What’s the plan for today?”

Clark chugs back his coffee, then sets his mug in the sink. “We have to be at the manor for brunch.”

“ _Brunch_? Who even  _has_  that?” Jon asks. He wanders off to the living room and slumps on the couch, face first.

Clark picks the present up off the table and follows him. “Alfred. And we’re expected to join them.”

Jon groans again, long and muffled.

Clark chuckles and looks through the box, rectangular and flat, only to find it wrapped in lead foil. “Do you want me to open this now, or when we get to Wayne Manor?”

That perks Jon right up, and he flips around, smiling bright. “Now! Open it now!”

Clark tears open the paper, then the foil, and pops the top off. “You got me a tie?”

“Yeah!”

Clark chuckles and pulls it out, only to find a watch underneath. Clark blinks, and sets the tie down to take out the watch.

“Surprise!” Jon shouts. He throws his arms around Clark’s neck. “I saved up for three months to buy you that.”

Clark hugs Jon. “I love it. Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to Jon’s head. “Gross, Dad. Stop it.”

* * *

Bruce grabs his coffee and sits at the table, newspaper in hand, a moment of calm before all the kids come tumbling down the stairs trying to maim one another. He takes a sip and cherishes the moment while it lasts.

A loud thud comes from upstairs.

“Whoops!”

“What the–!”

“Hey! That wasn’t funny, Dick!”

“I thought it was funny.”

“No one asked you!”

Cassandra comes into the dining room first, placing a kiss to Bruce’s cheek as she passes. Then the boys shove each other through the door, nearly knock over a vase, throw someone--probably Damian--over the top of the table, a batarang gets wedged into the wall, Titus and Ace run in barking at everyone’s feet, and Bruce takes another sip.

“Enough,” Alfred says as he walks in from the kitchen, rolling tray stacked to the brim with food.

The boys grumble and all settle.

“Master Bruce, when will Master Clark and Master Jon be arriving?”

“Already here!” Clark smiles as he walks in, Jon on his heels. He looks at the room and huffs a laugh. “I guess we just missed the fun.”

“Indeed, you did,” Bruce mumbles.

“It’s too early for you to already be a sourpuss,” Clark says. He kisses Bruce’s head and takes a seat beside him.

Bruce takes another sip of coffee. “Happy Father’s Day.”

‘Happy Father’s Day!’ goes up like a chant through the room, and suddenly any animosity from minutes ago clears away and brunch is served.

Bruce follows Alfred as he heads back into the kitchen. Alfred notices, and raises a brow. “Is there a problem, sir?”

Bruce sets his empty mug on the counter. “No problem.” He smiles, and pulls Alfred into a hug. “Happy Father’s Day.”

Alfred stills for only a moment, then folds into the hug. Bruce can’t see it, but there’s a smile on his face and tears in his eyes.


	22. Talk About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: So glad you are better! If you are up for more Superbat smut, may I ask for them bickering over all the reasons they shouldn’t have sex while having sex? Thank you!

Bruce unbuttons his shirt and drops it from his shoulders. “You can’t bottom.”

Clark looks up from unbuckling his belt. “Why not?”

Bruce walks up and finishes his belt for him. He presses a kiss to Clark’s lips. “You might break my dick.”

Clark’s brows furrow, and he speeds the rest of their clothes off. “I would not.”

“Have you ever bottomed before?” Bruce walks Clark back to the bed.

Clark sits, grips Bruce’s hips to pull him closer, between his legs. “Lois pegged me once.”

Bruce raises a brow. “How’d that end?”

“Fine,” Clark says, his bottom lip pouted out. His hands come around to Bruce’s thighs, leading him up to kneel over his lap. “We’ll do this your way.”

Bruce cups his face and kisses him, nipping his lip. Clark’s eyes are annoyed but his grip on Bruce is resigned.

Clark floats them up the bed so his head rests on a pillow.

Bruce reaches into his nightstand for the lube. “Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You  _are_  pouting and it’s childish.” He slams the drawer closed and looks down at Clark, his eyes narrowed. “If you want to bottom that badly, I can get some blue kryptonite from the batcave–”

“No,” he says. He takes the lube from Bruce’s hands and spreads it on his fingers. “I just want to talk about it.”

“What is there to–” He bites his lip as Clark presses a finger in, little care in the motion besides shutting Bruce up, if Clark’s glare is anything to go by. “That wasn’t very nice, Mr. Kent.”

“I’m not feeling very nice, Mr. Wayne.”

Clark flips them, shifts Bruce to his knees in a blur of speed. He presses his finger back in before Bruce can even think to complain, one of his arms pulled back and trapped in Clark’s grip so he can’t change the position. “Why do you want to bottom so bad?” Bruce asks, jaw tight.

Clark presses another finger in. “Why does it matter? We’re doing this now.”

Clark scissors his fingers, then rubs against Bruce’s prostate. It’s fine at first, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before; then Clark vibrates his fingers. Bruce pants, pressing his face into the pillow.

His hips rock back, a moan fights its way passed his lips. Clark holds his wrist tighter, moves his fingers faster.

“Clark,” he groans, burying his face in the pillow to muffle his sounds, his whole body tingling. He wonders if Clark is going to make him cum like this.

Clark releases his arm, and instead runs his hand over Bruce’s side, fingers ghosting over his skin.

He doesn’t stop until Bruce cums, panting and shaking. He runs his hands over his back, down his thighs, back up again. He lays himself over Bruce, touching every bit of him, and trails his hands up Bruce’s arms until he can fold their fingers together.

Clark presses a kiss to his neck, his ear, his cheek. “Did you like that?”

Bruce can feel Clark’s cock twitch against him, still hard and leaking precum. “Yes,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Clark hums, and takes a nip at Bruce’s ear. “I’d love to know what that feels like.”

He pictures it, Clark moaning his name, shifting restlessly under him, cumming all over himself while Bruce milks his prostate. He’d love to see Clark fall apart under his hands like this. Bruce nods. “We can talk about it.”


	23. Oh, Nurse!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: What if Clark did try the slutty nurse outfit to keep sick Bruce in bed? :D

Bruce can’t help the laugh that slips from his lips when he sees Clark walk in the room wearing a slutty nurse costume. It barely fits him for all his bulky muscles.

Clark flashes him a smile and gives a spin. “Like what you see?”

“Depends.” Bruce gets to his elbows, giving Clark a long once over. “Are we actually going to have sex, or is this just a tease?”

Clark’s smirk is vicious. “You’re too sick for any  _strenuous_  activity.”

Bruce groans and lays back on the bed, eyes on the ceiling. “It doesn’t have to be strenuous. You can sit on my lap and do all the work.”

Clark laughs as he comes over to his bedside. “No, Bruce.” He takes the cool rag from the bowl on the bedside table and places it on Bruce’s forehead.

Bruce wraps his hand around Clark’s thigh, fingering the pantyhose rolled up his leg. “Are you wearing a garter belt?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Clark is smirking. And also being very mean, Bruce thinks.

“This is cruel.”

Clark takes Bruce’s hand from his leg and lays it back on his chest. “How about a deal then?”

Bruce purses his lips. He’s pretty sure this was Clark's plan from the beginning. “Go on.”

Clark gets on the bed and kneels over Bruce. Bruce places his hands on Clark’s thighs again. “If you’re a good little patient for me,” Clark says, leaning over to press a kiss to Bruce’s lips. “When you’re all better, I’ll put this back on, and we’ll have a good time then.”

“But not before?”

Clark shakes his head, a smile on his lips. “Not before.”

Bruce rubs his thumbs on Clark’s skin. “Fine.”


	24. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Superbat + Clark is fascinated by Bruce’s scars.

The morning is quiet, the sunlight orange and barely passed the tree line. Bruce is sitting on his bed, working on his laptop. While Batman is his top priority, Bruce Wayne still has obligations; Tim said he needed this done to proceed to the next step.

Clark is sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, pressing kisses along his shoulders and neck. They aren’t inherently sexual, his hands aren’t groping at Bruce’s cock or chest, so Bruce doesn’t bother to stop him.

This goes on for a while, long enough for Bruce to transfer from Bruce Wayne work to Batman work and back again when Tim sends him another email.

Clark stopped laying kisses a while ago, and is instead resting his head on his shoulder. He had to fly off to Metropolis once this morning, but it’d only been a small fire, quickly contained, no injuries.

“Hey Bruce?”

Bruce hums.

“Where’d these come from?” Clark’s fingers press to scarred dots in his shoulder.

“Killer Croc.”

Clark’s fingers pause, then move on. They find Bruce’s thigh, his head peeking over Bruce’s shoulder. “Are these also from Croc?”

Bruce glances down. Clark’s touching more dotted scars on his outer thigh. “Yes.”

It’s Clark’s turn to hum. His hands join back together around Bruce’s waist and he lets Bruce continue his work.

Bruce is back to Batman work when Clark asks, “Do they hurt?”

“The scars?” Bruce asks.

Clark nods.

Bruce pauses in his reading. “The scars don’t hurt, but the tissue aches sometimes.” Bruce looks at Clark over his shoulder, then back down at his screen. “It gets worse as I get older.”

Clark doesn’t ask anymore questions about Bruce’s scars after that; Bruce is sure he’s run him off from the subject altogether now. Clark doesn’t like to think about everyone he knows getting older while he stays the same, aging at a snail’s pace.

He’ll have to talk about it eventually, and Bruce will be ready whenever he is.


	25. Bodies Swapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: How about a Superbat bodyswap fic? Thanks! :D

“Everything  _hurts_ ,” Batman complains. Or, Clark. In Bruce’s body.

Bruce, in Clark’s body, lifts his feet, waves his arms. “You’re light weight.”

“How do you live like this?” Clark asks, nearly crumbling to his knees, clutching his middle.

Bruce finally acknowledges Clark, his face half hidden by Batman’s mask but body language screaming his agony. “I ignore it.”

Clark’s head drops, and he mumbles, “Of course.”

“Well we can’t just leave them like this,” Diana says, hands on her hips. “If for no other reason than that Clark cannot handle Bruce’s injuries.”

“I don’t understand how he handles them,” Clark, again, mumbles.

Bruce feels weird about being able to still hear his words with clarity. It’s…going to take getting used to.

“Have you been running around with broken ribs?” Clark asks, looking into Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce folds his arms. “They’re fractured, not broken.”

Clark groans and Barry walks over to help him sit. “I’ll get you some pain pills.”

“No,” Bruce calls after him, but Barry has already run off. His eyes turn to Clark. “Don’t put any pills in my body.”

Clark groans again.

“He is in pain, Bruce,” Diana objects. Barry returns. “You cannot leave him to suffer.”

“I am put on heavy medication and sedatives when my injuries are too severe. Adding extra, unnecessary medication will be putting too much on my system. He’ll just have to live with it until we get switched back.”

Clark turns the pills away, and Barry hesitates. “Let’s just…find a way to reverse this. Quickly.”


	26. Don't Make This Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Idk if I can ask this it's not one of your usual pairs so if you dont wanna write it its cool but Bruce and Jason having a father-son moment then trying to act cool afterwards, background superbat if you want. Also your writing is amazing and I check back everyday to see what you've written, pls continue💕

Jason stops in the doorway to Bruce’s office, hands shoved a little too deep in his pockets, fists curled a little too tight.

Bruce looks up from his laptop, then lowers the lid to give Jason his attention.

Jason forces himself to hold his eye. “Alfred’s started dinner.”

Bruce’s brows furrow, then he nods. “Okay.”

Jason nods as well, and drops his eyes.

When the silence has stretched out for too long, Bruce fills it. “How are your injuries?”

Jason had been in an explosion. He threw Tim off the roof of a warehouse to get him away from it but hadn’t had time to jump himself. He’d hit the ground hard, harder than Tim. He’d been out for two weeks after.

“They’re better.”

Bruce nods again. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Clark-–” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. Bruce’s eyes are intent against his. “Clark told me you didn’t leave my bedside for two whole days. That you’d barely take any food.

"He said he eventually had to drag you away.”

Bruce is sitting stiff in his chair. Jason is sure Clark has betrayed his trust in some way for telling Jason this, and that he’ll be hearing about it later. “We…didn’t know if you would make it.”

Jason takes this new knowledge in, and thinks of how Bruce reacted to the news.

Jason forces out a chuckle. “It’ll take a lot more than some explosion to kill me a second time.”

Bruce’s face grows stricken for a moment, then he gives a smile. It’s fake, but Jason doesn’t point that out. “Clearly.”

Jason shifts to his toes and back, hands still deep in his pockets, then points a thumb over his shoulder. “So. I’m going to go help Alfie finish up dinner.”

“Right, yes,” Bruce mutters, eyes casting back to his laptop.

Jason hesitates in the doorway. “See you in a minute, Old Man.”

It brings a genuine smile to Bruce’s face, though a small one. “See you then.”

So, maybe Clark will be in less trouble than he thought.


	27. Stars in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Hi! Hope you feel better soon. ❤️ Might I request some smutty Superbat with bottom Bruce if you're feeling up for it?

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Clark mutters. His grip on Bruce’s hips is a little too tight, his face a little too worried.

Bruce smirks. “I never said it was a good idea. I said it would be fun.”

“I don’t like when you have fun,” he says with little thought. “Your particular brand of fun is-–”

There’s many ways Clark could have ended that sentence--weird, dangerous, inappropriate--but he doesn’t get to say any them.

Bruce moves, lifting himself up and over Clark’s cock. Clark shifts his grip, bites his lip, and Bruce settles onto him.

The air is chilling this high up, and Bruce’s clothing, what scant little he’s wearing, is not suited for the cold. A too tight shirt is what he’d brought up here with them. Clark is little better with a shirt and pajama pants. He’d at least worn all black to blend with the night sky, even above Gotham’s ever present smog.

“What?” Bruce asks, once again sitting in Clark’s lap. “Worried you’ll drop me?”

Clark doesn’t know how to feel when Bruce is playful like this. It’s nice to see him in a pleasant mood, but Bruce is what many people would call an adrenaline junkie. He’s inclined to push limits and doesn’t know when to stop until it’s too late.

Bruce hooks his feet over Clark’s thighs and lifts himself up.

Clark can do nothing but watch and hold Bruce as he sets a rhythm. To his surprise, Bruce starts slow and stays that way, his hands on Clark’s abs for balance and eyes half lidded.

If Clark didn’t know better, he’d think Bruce brought him up here to make love under the stars.

Except, that’s exactly what they’re doing. Hips gently rocking together, soft breaths shared between them, words of affection whispered and lost in the wind.

Bruce moans; a soft, sweet sound.

Clark pets one hand down Bruce’s thigh, then up again to squeeze his hip. His other is working Bruce’s cock in a lazy tug, using precum from the head to smear down the shaft for an easier grip.

When Bruce cums, he throws his head back, mouth open with a moan on his lips, and eyes squeezed shut. The stars twinkle behind his head. The moon shines pale light down on them. Bruce has never looked more beautiful.

Clark will never forget this view.


	28. Got To Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I hope you are feeling better! Could you do a Superbat prompt where Clark almost dies, but Bruce manages to save him JUST in time? Thanks!

“You’ve got to stop doing this to me,” Batman mutters, dragging Superman’s body behind a broken pillar of concrete.

Bullets rain down where they’d been moments ago.

“I can’t move.” Superman’s voice shakes as he says this, his eyes wide with fear.

Batman finds a needle in his belt and pulls it out, prying the protective tip off with his teeth. “You’ll be fine,” he says around the piece, then spits it out.

Superman doesn’t argue with him, for once in their lives. Batman pulls out a gun with the cure for Poison Ivy’s paralysis, connects the needle, and stabs it into Superman’s neck, injecting the serum.

“Ah!” His eyes squeeze shut and he grits his teeth. Batman would feel bad, and don’t doubt that he’s worried, but he told Superman to stay out of this fight.

Batman hears Bane stomping through the streets, looking for him. He pulls Clark close and hides them in the shadows under the pillar.

Until Clark can move again, they need to keep a low profile.

“Batsy, baby, why are you hiding from me?” Joker calls out from farther down the street.

“He’s mine, hombre,” Bane says, not even bothering to face the Joker.

“Now, now, Baney. Where’s your sense of sportsmanship?”

A gun goes off two times.

“Ngh!”

Bane falls face first into the ground, a couple of needles in his neck. Purple liquid drains into Bane. Poison Ivy’s paralysis. She’s selling it.

“Oh, Batsy!” Joker sings, skipping farther away, twirling his gun around his finger.

“Bruce,” Superman mutters, his fingers twitching.

Batman places his finger to his lips, but the pillar is knocked to pieces around them, and Batman takes a vicious hit to the back of his head.

“You’re mine,” Harvey hisses, pulling Batman out of the rubble by his cape. Superman is still under there, hidden and completely buried.

Batman jumps and slams his foot into Harvey’s face, knocking him back and loosing his grip. Batman slips free, digs and grabs Superman from under the rubble, and hurries to shoot them up to the roof.

He beats Harvey, just barely avoiding being tackled to the ground, then dodging bullets as he shoots at him.

Clearly his luck hasn’t been good tonight.

Superman slips from his arms and rolls across the roof. Batman can see Red Hood a few roofs over, shooting at someone on the street. Probably Joker.

“Bruce…” Superman groans, and Batman hurries to his side. “I…something burns.”

Batman’s brows furrow. He checks Superman over, and finds a hole in the side of his stomach, blood pooling out.

Batman doesn’t stop to figure out why, just that he needs to check for an exit wound, possibly pull out a bullet, and then close the wound.

Superman gasps a breath, his fingers curling into fists.

Batman is in a rush. He can’t find an exit wound, so he takes out his pliers and pulls the bullet out, careful to not hurt Superman. The tip of it shines green with kryptonite, and Batman knows Luthor is the reason all his rogues are loose from Arkham.

He places the bullet in his belt with the kryptonite ring, encased in lead.

Superman lifts his hand, shaking, and Batman grips it. He drops his head, and Superman starts to heal on his own. “You’ve got to stop doing this to me.”

Superman chuckles.


	29. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: could we have possessive clark please 😊

Luthor’s hands touching him, groping him, thinking he could take whatever he wanted from Bruce and thinking Bruce would let him.

Clark snaps his hips, knocking Bruce and his desk several steps across his office. Bruce grunts, his lip between his teeth and his hands fisting into Clark’s shirt. His legs are tight around his waist, and Clark’s feet are off the floor as he follows after wherever he knocks Bruce to next.

Bruce is glaring, perhaps not at Clark, but the expression still rests on his face. Clark takes his chin in hand and shoves his tongue passed his lips.

Bruce meets him with the same aggression, rolling his hips. Clark gets the message.

Fingers hooked over the far edge of the desk, he thrusts into Bruce at a bruising pace. He’s just conscious of himself enough to not break Bruce’s hips.

The desk gives a threatening crack under his hands, so he takes Bruce into his arms and puts him on the couch. The same couch where Luthor thought to make a move on Bruce.

He growls, his teeth bared.

Bruce flips them over, but only because Clark lets him. He kisses Clark again, holding his cheeks and slamming his hips down to take Clark’s cock into him again and again.

Bruce pants against his lips. A trickle of sweat rolls from his temple. “I’m yours, Clark.”

Clark sucks a hickie onto his neck, where Luthor’s fingers had touched, just below Bruce’s ear.

“He has nothing on you,” Bruce says.

He grabs Bruce’s hips and thrusts violently into him.

“Mine,” Clark growls.


	30. Please Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Hi! I have a prompt. Bruce is unconscious after being injured and they aren’t sure if he is going to wake up, but Clark stays with him through the night, waiting and talking to him. Thank you!

Bruce’s fingers are cold, his whole hand, his arm. His body is cold. Bruce is always cold though, so Clark tries not to let it get to him. J'onn had given the report. The boys went to tell Alfred and the girls. He thinks Dick will tell Gordon, but Clark’s concern ends there.

He doesn’t want to think of how serious it is. How weak and pale Bruce looks in the bed.

The bandages wrapped around his head are stained with blood, if barely, now. The dressing has been changed three times. Clark tries not to think about that either.

Diana places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes. “Try to get some sleep, Kal,” she whispers, even though they both know he won’t.

She leaves, and Clark sits by Bruce’s bedside.

How many times have they been in this position? One of them in the bed, one sitting to the side, clutching the other’s hand like a lifeline? How many more times can he hope to do this? How many more times can his heart stand to be on this side of things?

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning over and putting his face in his free hand.

The Watchtower is lively with young, junior members who know nothing of the fate the core members are suffering through. They laugh together, spar, eat. They’re bonding, growing trusts and understandings.

Clark remembers when he and Bruce first started out. They’d been at each other’s throats constantly, until Diana threw them in a ring and had them ‘solve their problems.’

The red sun lamps made the fight fair. Bruce’s training did not.

A stuttered laugh slips his lips. “You kept pinning me. On my back, on my front, against the wall,” he trails. “It was hot. We haven’t fought like that in a long time.”

No, they don’t spar anymore. Now, they have coffee, and if they have a disagreement, they meet up and discuss it. Should a mediator be needed, they’d call up Diana. Ever the peacemaker.

“Don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it,” he repeats her words. He smiles, then leans back in his seat.

Bruce’s heart, if slow, is a steady beat in his ears, echoed by the machine over their heads.

“When you wake up.”  _Not if. Never if._  “We should try sparring again. I think I’d have a better chance against you now.”

Bruce doesn’t respond, and Clark tries to ignore the hallow ache in his chest.


End file.
